


Various Other Dates of Import

by r_hirta



Series: They Call It Puppy Love [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, HELL YEAH DOMESTIC FLUFF, Harry Potter was Raised by Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, Humor, M/M, The Dads putting some paws down, a long awaited pun for the author, and more!, elderly ladies using saucy language, featuring:, first year jitters, if only, really sappy teenage idiots in a library, some lil slices of life in the December 21st AU!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 21:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18170243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_hirta/pseuds/r_hirta
Summary: Hey pals! So this work is going to act as supplementary material / a sequel to December 21st, in that each chapter will be a standalone ficlet in that verse, with the caveat that they will be a) not set on the exact date of December 21st, b) from a POV besides Remus, or c) some combination of the two.I’m going to post the four I have finished in a chronological order, but I intend to keep writing as tidbits come to me, so I’m going to leave the chapter number open ended for now (and subsequent ficlets may be non-chronological or otherwise totally random, though still intended for inclusion within this specific verse).Basically: here are some little scenes that my brain made up, about all sorts of random things I like! They will all feature Remus and Sirius in the context of the December 21st!AU and they will all be cute and/or amusing in my cute and/or amusing opinion.





	Various Other Dates of Import

**Author's Note:**

> Hey pals! So this work is going to act as supplementary material / a sequel to December 21st, in that each chapter will be a standalone ficlet in that verse, with the caveat that they will be a) not set on the exact date of December 21st, b) from a POV besides Remus, or c) some combination of the two.   
> I’m going to post the four I have finished in a chronological order, but I intend to keep writing as tidbits come to me, so I’m going to leave the chapter number open ended for now (and subsequent ficlets may be non-chronological or otherwise totally random, though still intended for inclusion within this specific verse). 
> 
> Basically: here are some little scenes that my brain made up, about all sorts of random things I like! They will all feature Remus and Sirius in the context of the December 21st!AU and they will all be cute and/or amusing in my cute and/or amusing opinion.

Sirius leans closer to the open page in front of them, trying to decipher whether a particularly elaborately scripted section of this recipe is calling for one ‘haddock,’ or one ‘bollock.’ He sincerely hopes it’s the former. 

He and Remus are in the Restricted Section, huddled in James’ cloak over one of the low tables, pouring through an old, smelly tome with a grease-stained cover. There’s nothing dark about it, Sirius doesn’t think, just something the students shouldn’t be allowed to thumb through without supervision; some sort of menu log from one of the original cooks of the castle, just after the Founders’ time and before house elf labor had become the vogue thing done. 

The impending threat of graduation has made the four of them keen to put as many finishing touches on the map as possible in their final days of unfettered roaming, and the kitchens have lately caught Sirius’ special attention. The elves are pretty forthcoming as it is, but Remus has unsurprisingly insisted that a dusty old book could provide additional secrets. 

Looking down at the messy scrawl on the parchment before him, Sirius isn’t so sure. The author doesn’t appear to have been either very scrupulous or too keen on legible penmanship, and so far they’ve turned up nothing interesting beyond an early Head of Ravenclaw’s fondness for parboiled niffler brains. 

Sirius does remember Remus mentioning something about additional sections of the book revealing themselves if one stroked the spine in a particular way - perhaps they should give that a go next. 

Although the prospect is very odd. Kind of pervy, actually. 

He eyes Remus askance, wondering just how he had managed to figure that one out, and how much he would blush if Sirius tried to wheedle it out of him. 

He couldn’t if he wanted to, however; Remus has dozed off, slumped over in his chair, one arm limp in his lap and the other extended over the tabletop, his disheveled head pillowed on it. 

His exhaustion isn’t surprising to Sirius. Remus has been the most industrious of their group - also barely surprising - in studying for their Newts, staying up until all hours, sprawled across the common room floor near the fire with Lily and what looks like an entire library’s worth of textbooks. 

Sirius knows he’s nervous about getting the best results possible, assured that he’ll need every accolade he can drum up in order to be taken at all seriously when applying for jobs, next year. 

Stupid bloody wizarding world with its stupid bloody prejudices. As if Remus wouldn’t be the best possible candidate for any position, any time. 

Well, aside from the one day a month. But Sirius hardly sees why that should be a deal breaker. 

Speaking of the moon - Sirius glances out of one of the tall library windows to find it hanging high in the dark sky. A slivered crescent, waxing steadily over the shadowed grounds. 

The looming weight of it, always present, deepens as he considers the other darkness brewing outside the safety of the castle walls. The disappearances, the odd incidents; the whispers of a gathering storm. The Prophet is being as vague as ever about the small, suspicious changes occurring throughout wizarding society, but even inside Hogwarts they can feel an inexorable shift - an amorphous threat, growing just out of sight. 

Sirius tries his best not to think about it, especially given the inescapable surety of his own family’s involvement in whatever nasty thing it ends up being, beyond praying that his nearest and dearest won’t be touched by its ominous hand. 

He also hopes beyond hope that Reg will stay out of it. 

He sighs, looking back on Remus’ face, on the exhaustion evident in the lines of it. Lines he should be too young to have. 

Overworked, overtired - and still game to follow Sirius out in the middle of the night. Sirius suspects Remus is humoring him, a bit. It’s entirely likely that he’s picked up on Sirius’ increasingly desperate, anticipatory nostalgia for the both the castle itself and their youthful escapades within it. It’s a childlike type of distress, but it’s his. 

The prospect of leaving Hogwarts - the truest home he’s yet known - strikes Sirius like the prospect of losing a limb. And one of his better ones, at that. 

He’ll be bereft, he knows, and probably not all that subtle about it. He likely isn’t being subtle about it now. 

A deep, clenching wave of gratitude washes over him that he’ll at least get to see Remus everyday, after they leave. They’ve already talked about getting a flat with Peter in muggle London, not far from Diagon. 

Sirius doesn’t know how he would cope, otherwise. Losing Hogwarts might be akin to losing a limb, but losing Remus would be - 

Well. 

Sirius continues to gaze at him. At his slack, scarred face, so dear. At the dark, bruised circles under his eyes. At Remus’ shirt sleeve rolled up to the elbow, his pale forearm dotted with freckles and criss-crossed with fine, white scars. 

These scars are healed; it’s been some time since Remus had a truly violent transformation. They’re never gentle, but it’s been a long while since Sirius has had to resort to lying on him bodily during the transition - in dog form, of course - to stop him tearing himself apart. 

These scars  _ are  _ healed, but the sight of them still pulls at Sirius’ gut anyway. A twisting pain that makes Sirius want to pet at him, to hold him tenderly and firmly and never stop, to poke him awake and tell him impossible things.

The primary scars on this arm consist of four long welts, once-deep scratch marks from Remus’ own claws. Sirius wants to run his fingers along them, soothing. He wants to erase them. He wants to trace them with his tongue. 

Something about the way they grid Remus’ fair skin reminds Sirius of the neat rows of buttons on the finger-type machine they’d been studying in Muggle Studies the week prior - the click and tap of the tiny, plastic keys. 

Sirius had been fascinated by it; the weighted resistance of the buttons eventually giving way to the press of his fingers, sending the little arms clacking out, to press his words in dark, uniform ink against the paper. 

Thinking of it, he reaches carefully out. He places his fingers lightly on Remus’ forearm, in line with the healed cuts, and taps out an invisible message on an imaginary row of keys. 

He’s likely forgetting exactly where the proper letters are, but he knows what he wants to say. 

Remus’ skin is soft under his touch, downy with fair hairs, the scar lines only registering as raised ridges. 

Sirius grins to himself at the way Remus shivers slightly under his fingertips. He grins to himself at the silliness of it, the futility of the gesture - Remus isn’t even awake to appreciate it. 

But that’s for the best, most like. 

He lets his hands hover above Remus’ arm for a few seconds more. Not touching, just registering the heat of him. The thin vibration of life and magic thrumming through him, even in sleep. 

Then Sirius pulls his arms back, folding them against the edge of the table. His hands tingle with the ghost of the touch, with the echoes of all the touches yet to come. 

He glances again at Remus’ face. 

He wants to smooth the flopping hair down over his forehead, to trace a gentle finger over his cheekbones, to count every freckle visible and then a hundred more. 

But he keeps his hands to himself, for now. He can wait. 

He can wait.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we can all guess what Sirius ‘typed’ out on Remus’ arm, that complete SAP - though he obviously would have said “I wrote ‘you’re a knob’ lol” if Remus had been awake to ask.   
> Ah, l'amour chez les adolescentes!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! <3


End file.
